


alpha-coached whelping

by Netya



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alpha Jean Kirstein, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Dragons, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Coming Untouched, Dragon Hybrids, Dragon shifters, M/M, Mpreg, Omega Armin Arlert, Omega Marco Bott, it was SO MUCH FUN I HOPE YOU ENJOY IT MY DEAR, this is the weirdest genre fusion I think I've ever done
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-24
Updated: 2018-12-24
Packaged: 2019-09-25 23:55:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17131100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Netya/pseuds/Netya
Summary: Marcoreallyjust wants to nest in peace... Jean thinks he's being helpful.





	alpha-coached whelping

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Bringobaggins](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bringobaggins/gifts).



Marco’s pregnant. Well, Marco’s going to lay an egg – he’s preparing for a whelping – he’s going to have a _baby_ , whatever the proper terminology is these days, and for that, he needs a nest.

Nests intended for whelping are, as a rule, built for comfort. Bring him blankets, pillows, a couple old sweatshirts and Marco’s a happy camper - it’s no different than when he nests for heats, really. It just tends to involve more blankets than haphazard selections of Jean’s freshly washed clothes. Most importantly, of course, the nest needs to be made, or at least organized by, an omega. 

Jean, proud, pig-headed alpha that he is, ignores this. 

Oh, he’s perfectly happy to help -- he’s gone above and beyond Marco’s expectations, in fact; he’s gone shopping for new furs and faux-furs and throws; gathered every scrap of remotely soft fabric they own; he’s even gone and splurged on a set of decorative, mercury candle-holders, all in the name of making their little apartment as cozy and comfortable as possible.

It means a lot that he wants to help. Really, it does.

But if Marco goes one more day without being allowed to make his nest in peace, he’s going to file for divorce. 

\--

“Jean, honey. Please go out.” Jean’s shaking his head before Marco can even finish his sentence, and any other day he’d be screaming in frustration but today he pastes on a placating smile because he has a plan. 

“The baby and I will be fine for,” he checks his watch, “two hours. Your backpack,” he points, “Is packed. There’s water, granola bars, your camera and spare batteries. Take some pictures and bring them back for me to enjoy. You’ve been cooped up here alone with me for far too long -- ah, here they are.” The appearance of Armin and Bertholdt in the doorway is a blessed sight. 

“What’s all this?” Armin asks, tilting his head quizzically. “Jean? Shouldn’t you be with the others? They’re waiting in the car.” 

“Reiner took off work to be here. You haven’t gone out with Connie and Sasha in months. Mikasa took off _Eren_ to be here, Jean. Besides --” Marco casts a look around their modest living room-come-staging-area for what feels like the entirety of pottery barn. “It’s suffocating in here, half these blankets haven’t been washed, and I need time to do laundry.” Jean is leaving if Marco has to frog-march him down to the car himself. 

But Jean retreats closer to Marco, reaching out and taking hold of his hand. “You shouldn’t be lifting things,” he says, resolved. “Certainly not heavy things like laundry baskets. I can do laundry while you rest -” 

Marco groans and looks at Armin beseechingly, throwing his hands up. Jean follows his gaze, straightening, and addresses the omega in the doorway firmly. 

“I’m not going anywhere – Marco wants me to do laundry, and...”

Armin shoots him an amused look. Marco rolls his eyes, mouthing: _“Marco wants no such thing!”_

“…frankly I find it rather presumptuous that you’d take it upon yourselves to disturb my home, and my _pregnant mate_ , while we’re _nesting_. Don’t think I didn’t see you, Bertholdt,” Jean adds, raising his voice. There’s a brief clatter from the kitchens -- and then the distinct sound of the kettle flicking on. 

Jean bristles, eyes flashing a dangerous shade of amber. “Jean,” Marco starts reproachfully, but Armin interrupts. 

“Jean,” he says, placating, taking a step forward. Jean stiffens slightly – there’s a distinct, familiar edge of insistence in his voice that omegas use when they _really_ want to win an argument. “Marco’s a grown man, he can wash his own sheets, surely.” 

Marco catches Armin’s eye, nodding his appreciation and starting on Jean with the same tone, a deliberate croon bubbling up in his chest. “Go, Jeanbo,” he smoothes his hand down Jean’s back, taking a moment to nuzzle the tawny scales that peek out from the shoulder of Jean’s sweater. “I’ll be _fine_ , see? Armin and Bertl will take good care of me. Of us,” he adds, holding his stomach meaningfully. 

Armin lays his hand on Jean’s other shoulder, and to Marco’s relief some of the tension eases from his mate’s body; it would take an extraordinarily strong alpha to resist the combined efforts of not one, not two, but _three_ omegas who all want nothing more than for him to leave the nest. 

“Alright, fine,” he grumbles, and Marco rewards him with a sweet peck on his cheek. “But I expect you do to all the heavy lifting,” Jean warns, glaring at Armin pointedly. Armin holds his hands up. “Of course. No pregnant omega will do laundry alone on my watch, Jean, you have my word.” 

The kitchen echoes as Bertholdt snorts. Jean aims another glare at the hallway. 

He turns back to Marco, wrapping one arm around his waist and brushing his knuckles against Marco’s belly reverently. “You’re absolutely sure you’re going to be alright?” 

Marco lets himself purr soothingly for a moment, leaning into Jean’s chest and smiling at the answering, syrupy rumble from the back of Jean’s throat. “I’ll be fine. _We’ll_ be fine.” 

“Okay.” Jean furrows his brows. “I love you.” “Jean,” Marco laughs, pushing at his mate’s shoulder. “Go.” 

\--

Marco sighs, sinking back into the blessedly clean cushions of the couch with relief. “I swear, he’s more stressed than I am -- and I’m the one laying the damn thing.” He rubs a hand over his belly apologetically. “Sorry, sweetling, it’s not your fault,” he mumbles. 

Armin nods, his scent oozing sympathy as he pages critically through Jean’s latest acquisition, an instructional booklet with _Alpha-Coached Whelping_ splayed across the top in loopy, purple lettering. “You know, most of this is just alpha-ego bullshit. If they actually listened to even _half_ of what their mates said, they’d have much less room to let their fears run wild. I thought Eren was going to drive me mad by the end of my first trimester.” 

Marco groans in agreement. “Thanks for getting Jean out for the day, really, Armin. I can’t thank you enough.” He side-eyes his friend cautiously. “Eren didn’t go with them, did he?” 

“Oh, no,” Armin snorts and shakes his head, brushing a lock of pale, shimmering hair behind the sharp, pigmented point of his ear. Despite their respective alpha’s mini-rivalry, Armin and Marco bonded easily over their similar ‘afflictions’ -- while most of the shifter population passed comfortably as human save the occasional slitted pupil, there were rare cases of one’s ‘primal’ traits being more noticeable in their human forms. Armin’s center around his head. A striking gathering of royal blue scales spreads from the edges of his temples down either side of his neck, and his ears are dark and pointed. Marco’s, by contrast, are less immediately obvious; a smattering of brown scales trails down his chest and forearms, tapering into ivory-tipped nails that more resemble talons. He usually files them down, but since he’s been stuck inside the past few weeks anyways (and by Jean’s insistence -- his alpha, far from being repulsed by the reminders of their inhumanity, finds them quite attractive) he’s let them grow out some. “He’s taking the kids up to Carla’s,” Armin says, tilting his head thoughtfully. “They’re staying the weekend. It’s about time they go up there, anyways.” He licks his lips. “It’s been ages since we’ve had the place to ourselves.” 

Bertholdt wanders in from the kitchen while Marco snorts, balancing an antique ceramic tea-set – a gift from Jean’s mother – and a plate of pastries on a tray. Armin stands to help make room, shifting the nearing ridiculous piles of faux-fur, fleece, and cotton blankets off the couch.

“Careful, ‘min. If you’re not careful you’ll have a whole brood on your hands.”

“I’m counting on it,” Armin winks, a mischievous glint in his eye. “Besides, I wouldn’t talk,” he points out, eyeing Marco’s stomach meaningfully. “I mean, now that Jean’s gone wild for the first time in a while.” He wiggles his eyebrows. “A chance for him to let loose, shift, shake out all those… primal instincts…” 

Bertholdt bursts out laughing and Marco covers his face with his hands, cheeks burning. 

Armin grins. “Alphas are so much more _fun_ when they’ve been suppressed, aren’t they?” 

\--

Jean tries to turn back as soon as they’re on the highway, and it takes the combined efforts of Connie and Mikasa to keep him in his seat until they reach the reserve. 

Sasha leads the way once they arrive, shifting as soon as they hit the trail and shooting up like a burst of flame, her bright orange scales like a beacon against the clear blue sky. Connie and Reiner soon follow, and then it’s only Mikasa cocking her eyebrow while she waits for Jean to shift. 

“I’ll walk. It’s not that far,” he mutters, still peeved, and she rolls her eyes but indulges him as they trudge down the well-worn path to the lake. 

Connie’s lithe, spring-green form is tangled with Sasha’s over the lake when they reach the clearing, the two of them play fighting for fish while Reiner shouts encouragement. Mikasa quirks her eyebrow challengingly and shifts to join them, flying a languid lap along the water before settling down with her legs under her, wings outstretched to display the striking collection of silver scales that burst outwards like stars over her black wingspan.

“Oh, fine,” Jean rolls his eyes, shedding his shirt and waving a hand to acknowledge Connie’s excited chittering. His torso is shot through with streaks of tawny pigment, scales covering his shoulder blades in a mimic of a wingspan. 

He rises up into the air and chases Connie back across the lake, snapping playfully at his tail. He’s larger than all four of the dragons there, though Reiner’s more broad; tawny, with a glistening bronze ridge that runs from the tip of his tail to top of his spine. There’s no denying it – Jean’s an impressive drake. It’s no wonder he received so many courtship offers before he began courting Marco, and even then, it took a while before anyone was properly convinced they were together for the long term.

Jean was always known for being a bit of a firebrand; he’d clashed with Eren, an impressive alpha in his own right, frequently, even when they were kids. He’d taken quite a while to grow out of his ‘young rebellion’ stage, and his attitude up until he finally presented left plenty to be desired. Marco, by contrast, was a sweet, if odd, attraction; his pronounced ‘primal’ traits made him appear less human than was usually desired, and being an omega on top of that made him something of an outcast. 

Honestly, it only attracted Jean more in the long run. Marco’s coat was beautifully ornate; a demure cream-and-brown that spiraled into gorgeous ivory down his legs and around the base of his tail. Jean’s actually the smaller of the two when they’re both shifted -- but his tail’s long enough to wrap around the breadth of Marco’s body twice over. 

He tussles with Sasha and Connie at the lake for a while, then lets himself be coerced into mountains for a race. They go a few rounds around the peak before he loses them; they’re the most easily distracted betas he’s ever met. 

Growling in annoyance, he flies another lap, glancing down idly at the snow-covered landscape. It’s nice, to stretch his wings like this; he’s been so wrapped up in Marco, preparing the nest for the upcoming whelping, he’d forgotten what it felt like to really let loose, as Armin would say. 

Hmm. Armin. Hopefully, Eren’s omega (and Bertl) are keeping Marco well entertained – he scowls at the brief memory of Eren barging into their apartment a few days ago, disturbing the nest and setting Marco on edge with his frankly rude display of aggression, claws out and accusing Jean of thievery. Fucking Jaeger. The pillows were in a bag left unattended in the hallway; who was Jean to know they ‘belonged’ to Armin. They weren’t scent-marked; they were free for the taking. They’re on kid three, anyways -- they’re well supplied for a whelping. 

He’s about to head back when something catches his eye on the ground, reflecting sunlight up from the crisp snow to the towering pines. 

\--

By the time he hears Jean’s hurried footsteps in the hall, the apartment is cozy and clean and Marco feels more relaxed than he has in weeks. Armin and Bertholdt did end up helping with the laundry – Armin ran the motley collection of furs down to the dry cleaners, and Bertholdt helped Marco separate out the many, many varieties of blankets and wash them clean of in-store chemicals.

They’d left once everything was dried, and Marco happily busied himself with building his nest properly, laying everything down for _warmth_ and _comfort_ instead of the haphazard, built-to-hoard method of a worried, possessive alpha.

Now, Marco settles back against the grey-and-white furs laid across the couch, burrowed comfortably in a stack of fleece blankets and enjoying the heat from the fire roaring in the hearth. 

“Marco!” Jean’s quick to shed his boots and backpack once he’s in the apartment, looking around approvingly at the admittedly _much_ more organized nest. “It looks wonderful, sweetheart, I got you something, how are you feeling,” he asks all in a rush, wasting no time nuzzling into his mate’s neck. Marco laughs and shoves at him playfully, but he isn’t trying to hard, content to be full of the warm, simple joy of his alpha returning home. Jean is clearly determined to enjoy his homecoming, dousing himself in a burst of lazy, satisfied omega pheromones as he rubs his face all over Marco’s scent glands, not relenting until a deep croon is rumbling out of Marco’s chest. “ _Hi_ , yes, I’m happy to see you too -- I _love_ you,” Marco mumbles, so blissed out he’d fall asleep if it weren’t for the lingering trace of flustered nerves in his alpha’s scent. “Wha’s it, you got me something?”

Jean lights up with a particular, alpha-brand of satisfaction, and Marco holds in his amusement as Jean reaches into his pocket and produces –

_“Oh, Jean!”_

Marco sits upright and holds out his hands in wonder, and Jean carefully drops the gemstone into his palms. Marco holds it out to the light, watching the shadows from the flame flicker over the sparkling facets of the jewel. 

“I thought you’d like it,” Jean says, quietly, the barest hint of apprehension in his tone. “It – it kind of reminds me of your eyes.”

The jewel is – _gorgeous_. The center is a deep, shining clover, the facets gradually lightening with specs of amber and topaz – it reminds Marco of a forest’s mossy, hazel undergrowth. “It’s – It’s perfect, it’s so pretty, Jean, I love it, I love you,” he breathes, clutching the gemstone in his palm and rolling over, smothering Jean with kisses. “It’s gonna -- make our baby so happy, we’re gonna have the most _beautiful_ babies, _alpha_ , we’re gonna have a whole _clutch_ of babies –!” 

“Hey, hey,” Jean chuckles and shifts to accommodate the babbling omega, squeezing his hands under Marco’s belly and lifting his hips so he can sit astride Jean’s lap. “I love you,” Marco continues, feeling more frantic by the second. “I love you I love you I love you – I’m sorry I kicked you out earlier I just _needed_ to fix the nest myself and clean and we had tea and Armin brought supplies so neither of us have to go anywhere until the whelping and – mm – _mmmjean_ –“ 

Jean grins as Marco’s words fizzle out, the omega gradually losing the ability (or desire) to speak as he focuses on grinding his hips, pushing into the soothing strokes Jean’s petting over his swollen belly, his thighs. 

Nothing quite gets a dragon going like pretty jewels. 

Jean noses his way over Marco’s scent gland, searching for that hot, pulsing bond-mark on Marco’s neck. “Jean,” Marco moans, as Jean finds it and _bites_ , unable to rein in the scent of smug satisfaction that starts to permeate the room – that permeates their _nest_. For their _egg_. For their _baby_. 

“Only the best for my baby,” Jean coos, “my _babies_.” He changes position, pulling one arm away from Marco’s waist and slipping it down the back of his loose sweats carefully. 

“Oh, sweetheart, you’re _wet_ ,” he gasps, and Marco comes just like that, crying out and spasming over the pad of Jean’s rubbing, teasing finger, a slick, pearly mess pooling under his full belly and trickling down around his thighs. He collapses with his full weight resting against his Jean’s chest, and his alpha strokes him through it, crooning happily. 

“Was that good, baby? Is that what my sweet, swollen omega needed?” 

Marco whines and smacks him lightly for his teasing, rolling off with difficulty and panting up at the ceiling in a euphoric haze. Jean props himself up on his elbows, grinning down at his _very_ sated omega proudly, and tugs at the waistband of Marco’s sweats. “You made a mess in these, sweetheart, need to take these off.”

“Shut up,” Marco mumbles, stroking the jewel still gripped tightly in his hand. “I’m pregnant.” 

He dozes off to the sound of Jean’s soft laughter, warm and content, sequestered comfortably with his mate in their hard-earned nest. 

_finis_  


**Author's Note:**

> HAPPY HOLIDAYS BRINGO I HOPE YOU ENJOY!!!


End file.
